


The Lion's Healer

by Writing_In_Denial



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A look into medieval life, Culture Shock, F/M, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Corpses, Idk if I will continue, In depth analysis of life in Thedas, Like really slow, Lots of Research, MGiT, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Slow Burn, Surgeons, Surgery, graphic depictions of injury, might be cliche, random idea, slower than my update schedule, this is a dumpster fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_In_Denial/pseuds/Writing_In_Denial
Summary: "𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺- 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮. 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯...𝘐 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯."---Harper Addison is thrown into a world of death, pain and betrayal. At every turn her world views are challenged by archaic laws and ethics that are bound to an era to which she is a stranger to. Despite this, she makes the most of it. Because all she has to do is save one life. It's a start.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Character(s), Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	1. Scalpel's Edge

Through a hospital, a woman in scrubs walked through the halls with two paper cups of coffee. Pushing open the door to the breakroom with her hip- she frowned upon the sight. Splayed out over the table like usual was Harper. The woman was still in her scrubs and was soundly sleeping with her face on her arms. Books were on the table and papers were in various states of disarray. With a soft sigh at her friend, she dropped the cup on the table right beside Harper. Probably with a bit more force than necessary.

Jerking upwards, dark red hair fell out of her half-hazard bun. Her brown eyes were still foggy with sleep, and underneath seemed to be dark circles that starkly contrasted with her pale skin. She spat some of her hair out of her mouth before turning to her friend. “Grace- thanks for the coffee I guess.”

The darker skinned woman scoffed and sat down in the chair beside her. Crossing one leg over the other, she cradled her own coffee. Sighing at the fragrant smell. “Figured you’d be here, instead of at home. Still working on your residentiary research?”

Harper gave a slow pitiful nod and put her head back down on the table. “Was swamped with patients in the pit from an apartment fire last night. I didn’t get a break between rounds like I thought I would- so I stayed up late trying to do some research. Must have fallen asleep.” This was punctuated with a soft yawn. “I’m still trying to find inspiration. My mom says I should do my research on heart defects- since Cory had one when he was a baby. It just doesn’t feel right though. I’m a trauma surgeon, not a cardio surgeon.”

“Right, of course she would suggest that. Isn’t he in his first year of college now? She still treats him like a baby.” Grace takes a sip of her drink, her other hand idly fingering the pages of one of the books Harper had open on the table. “I’m sure you’ll find something though.” She encourages softly, before tilting her head some. “Speaking of your mom- didn’t you take today off to help her with her yard sale or whatever?”

Harper jerked up, almost spilling her coffee in the process. Though she swiftly managed to catch it before it spilled on any important papers. “Crap!” She shoved papers into various books and closed them, stacking them haphazardly. “I completely forgot. With everything going on- ugh- what time is it?”

The other surgeon checked her watch. “It is officially 8:27 AM. Hey, why don’t you get changed and I’ll pick this up. Go. Don’t want to start another fight with your mom, right?”

“Thank you, you are such a life saver.” She picked up her coffee- gave Grace a brief hug before practically sprinting out of the room.

Technically she wasn’t late yet.

* * *

“Well look who finally decided to show up.” Her mother remarked unprompted as she got out of her car. She was still in her scrub top and had only managed to throw on loose sweat pants and a baggy grey hoodie. In front of her mother’s house were white foldable tables already set up with various things, bits and bobbles from Harper’s childhood that she’d admittedly miss.

Harper groaned quietly with a small roll of her eyes as she came up to the porch, giving her mother a half-hearted kiss on the cheek from where she was sitting on her chair. “Nice to see you too mom. My day was great, I’m so glad you asked.”

Janice, her mother- gave a glare. Never in her lifetime could Janice Stone be perceived as anything other than a stubborn woman. She had been that way ever since Harper was young. Ever since her father died, it seemed like she was only harder on her than ever. “Don’t give me that snark young lady. I’m your mother, and you’re never too old for me to put you over my lap and hit you with a switch.” Her mother shook her head with a soft sigh. “Too bad you aren’t like your brother, he’s always so nice whenever he sees me.”

Biting her tongue until she tasted metal, she only barely resisted the urge to speak about her brother. Another thing she had learned from a young age, to never speak openly to her mother about anything her brother did. Because she would just make excuses for him and twist it where it was her fault. He was the baby, and anything she did was never good enough. “Sorry. Look; what can I do to help out while I’m here?”

“I left the heavier boxes for you inside the entrance hallway. Hurt my back while dragging them down the attic.” To avoid more of her mother’s guilt tripping, Harper just pushed open the screen door to her childhood home.

Inside it was still the same as she’d remembered from last time. The house was a warm beige on the walls with an old oak trim. The floors were dark wood with a worn orange rectangular carpet that her mother had knitted when her father was still alive. Pictures were still on the walls, and Harper paused at one of the framed photos. It was of her and her father, she was holding up a fish she had caught from their camping trip out.

She stroked the picture fondly, tracing over her father’s face. Even now, years later- tears still came to her eyes. Sniffling some, she wiped at her eyes with the palms of her hands. After getting her tears under control, she turned to go further down the hall to start carrying out various cardboard boxes that her mother had lain out.

The first box she lifted had quite a few things, various old quilts that her mother had made- a few old college textbooks of Harper’s. Though down at the bottom of the box was another smaller box made of stone. She remembered it, and she remembered it fondly. Briefly kneeling to take it out, she opened it up- and music started to play from it.

She was in her own little world for a moment, in a memory of when her father used to play the music box for her when she couldn’t go to sleep. Then when she was old enough, she didn’t need it anymore- and it collected dust up in the attic with the rest of their unused things. Still, her mom wouldn’t get rid of this- would she? It must have been an accident.

Separating the music box from the rest of the contents, she lifted her burden- the music box laid securely on top. However, suddenly something hit her from behind the head. With a yelp she barely stabilized the music box which tried to slip when she flinched. Turning around so fast she thought she might get whiplash; she narrowed her eyes at her brother- who had thrown the remnants of his apple core at her head. “Ew! That’s totally gross Cory, when are you going to grow up?”

“You know, when you get mad- your voice goes really shrill and you sound like an idiot. It makes no one want to listen to you. Maybe you should grow up.” He remarked.

She gave an indignant splutter, shifting on her feet and holding the music box protectively. “I do not! Anyways- shouldn’t you be somewhere else right now- mom said you couldn’t help with the yard sale. If you’re here, why do I have to carry boxes?”

Her brother shrugged, rummaging through the cabinet. He pulled out a bag of chips, opening it up- he put a handful in his mouth before he began talking. “Because I’m studying for exams. I don’t know why you’re so mad, it’s not like you have a social life anyways.”

Before she could say something, she heard her mother call from outside the door. “We don’t have all day Harper.”

With one final glare, she decided to let out one last parting shot. “Well, good luck with your studying, but I doubt not matter how much you study you’ll actually pass. Later Cory.” Ignoring her brother trying to egg on the argument behind her, she walked back outside.

“Did you pick on your brother Cory again?” Her mother asked, sounding offended on Cory’s behalf. “You know he’s sensitive- and you belittling him won’t help him at all.”

Gritting her teeth, she set down the cardboard box on one of the empty spots at the tables set up in the yard. Plucking up the music box from the top, she walked back up to the porch. “You put dad’s music box in the ‘for sale’ box.”

Her mother scoffed. “You’re changing the subject.”

“ _You’re selling dad’s old stuff._ ” She insisted, with a partially accusatory tone.

Her mother stopped rocking in her chair, her knuckles almost imperceptibly tightening on the arms of her chair. “Yes. And I don’t think that it’s any of your business.”

Harper scoffed. The let out a small laugh. “It’s not any of my business? You called me here in the first place.”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t have to if you stopped by more!” Her mother shouted. “You never come over, I call you every week and you usually ignore my calls or tell me you’re too busy. I gave _birth_ to you Harper. I don’t expect much out of you, but sometimes I’d appreciate knowing how you’re doing!”

Harper groaned. “Mom, I told you before- I’ve been swamped with work. I’m on my second year of residency and I’m struggling. You never ask how I’m doing though when you call- all you do is complain about something I’ve done; you just expect me to be over whenever your mood strikes you! You should have told me you were selling dad’s stuff- I might want some of it.”

“I figured you’d just ignore me if I tried to talk.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest. Her usually stern features now set into something volatile. “I want this out of my life. I want to move on. You got that chance, by moving to a new apartment. So, what if I want to get rid of his stuff. It’s been five years- I deserve to move on!”

Her pale face flushed red from both anger and sadness. “You do deserve to move on mom. You deserve happiness, and love if you can find it; but I haven’t moved on yet. It hurts- it hurts every day; and it hurts that you never asked me how I was.” Her eyes were suspiciously glassy.

They both stayed deadly silent, each of them having crossed an impasse. Finally, taking a deep breath- her mother sighed. “I didn’t realize it still affected you.” Which was about as close as Harper would ever get to an apology from the woman.

“It’s okay. I should have reached out to you more. I should have made time.” She then looked down at the music box in her hands. “So- can I at least keep dad’s old music box?”

* * *

Opening the door with a jingle of her keys, Harper tossed them in the landing tray on her table beside the door. Under her left arm she carried the music box, though it too was soon set on the table by her front door next to the landing tray. Kicking off her shoes, which were some distastefully comfortable blue crocs, she practically tossed herself onto her couch. Exhaustion plaguing her body.

Her mother was always exhausting, and it seemed like every time that she visited that it was always a new fight. They were broken, their relationship was practically disintegrated. Years of silence and miscommunication on both sides have damaged it irreversibly, and Harper wasn’t sure if her mother even _wanted_ to fix the damage. Today she gained insight into what went on inside that head of hers, but it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. She didn’t get an apology, and she wasn’t expecting one.

Harper could apologize a hundred times, but it never mattered. She could fix what she did wrong even more times than that, but it did nothing. Her mother would find another flaw- give her another reason to apologize.

It was sad, because they weren’t always like this. Back when her father was alive- they were close. Not as close as she was to her dad, but they didn’t squabble like rabid cats every time they made eye contact.

Abruptly, gentle music started playing through her small apartment. It settled her mind almost immediately. The music box; though she hadn’t wound it up. Her confusion was pushed aside as she slumped into her couch and closed her eyes. She expected her slumber to be light every other night she’s had since she was old enough to remember. Dreamless and peaceful.

Though, it wasn’t.

* * *

It was like she was dropped into a warzone.

Shouts and screams were deafening. The smell of smoke and blood was heavy on her pallet. Heat crackled in the air from fires ravaging the landscape. Staggering to her feet, she winced as she stepped onto something hard with her bare feet. Whipping around, she almost became overwhelmed by the noise and the chaos.

“Help! Oh Maker! Please someone- anyone- help!” A frantic sobbing voice screamed from nearby. It was like every ounce of strength they had was pushed outwards to scream for help. Snapped out of her trance, Harper staggered through the smoke and the soot.

She came to a small building, made of wood. It too was on fire, the structural supports having collapsed and leaving nothing but ruin. Nearby was a woman cradling her child. “Hello!” Harper called out, coughing from the soot in her lungs. “You need to get away from the fire! Come on!”

The woman was frail with impossibly big eyes which were bloodshot and watery. “Please! Help my baby- help him- please. He’s hurt-“

“I can help him, I’m a doctor- but we have to get away from this smoke. Okay?” The woman nodded shakily, and Harper helped the woman to her feet. The boy in her arms didn’t look good. Just from what she could see of the wound- it was bad. At least third degree burns up the entirety of his right leg; from his ankle to his thigh. It was also impossible to tell how much smoke he inhaled.

Suddenly, a green flash and an explosion knocked them off their feet. Harper skidded a few feet, disoriented from the blast. Lifting her head, she could vaguely make out the shape of a humanoid figure. Though as it got closer, she realized it wasn’t human at all.

It was spindly with wiry limbs- its skin was like the gnarled and twisted texture of a dead tree- it’s eyes beady and black. A void of nothing that looked at her with no emotion in its eyes. Long claws raked the ground as it walked, and its teeth were needle-like. Her mouth opened in shock as she scrambled backwards on her hands. Her heart pounded in her ribcage, feeling like any moment it would escape her chest.

She hit a rock wall behind her and whimpered as it got closer. Finally, it leaned towards her- and its vile tongue uncurled like a snake’s. Its jaw unhinged possibly wide as it howled in her face with anguish like those of the damned- spittle landed on her skin. True terror unlike any before clutched at her chest- and she trembled- unable to make a sound. Before it could rear back to split her in half with its razor-like claws, something sunk into its skull. A mist of green black ichor sprayed onto her- and she sobbed quietly as it dissipated into a wave of green energy.

“Hey, are you okay?” A man- an actual man; not the twisted version like the thing before- walked up to her. He was honest to God wearing armor. Like those that medieval knights used to wear. Behind him was a short and stocky man that reminded her of her father, a woman and another tall and slender man.

Despite the trembling of her limbs and the terror in her heart, she looked around. “The woman- and the boy. He was hurt- I need to help.” She tried to push herself up.

The man gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, but they didn’t make it. We saw survivors over here on the field and tried to reach you all in time- they were on the lake when it happened. The ice broke and they fell inside.” She felt numb. She had lost patients before- but… “Look, we’re heading to the forward camp. We’ll take you there, it should be safe enough for now.”

She had no mind to disagree, nor to agree. Despite the freezing snow blistering her face from the shearing winds, she felt empty. It hurt. A gentle hand laid on her shoulder and guided her through the snow- she listlessly followed. Her mind clouded and hazy.

She only became aware when the hand left, and she found herself sitting atop a crate. Stone surrounded her, and they seemed to be on a bridge of sorts. Her savior was over, talking to another strangely dressed man. As she came more to her senses, she felt sick as she realized how many people were dead. Lining the walls of the bridge outpost were bodies piled and wrapped in canvas, the smell of death lingering like a cloud. She was used to seeing bodies, she worked as a surgeon- patients died. Though it was sterile, and usually she cleaned them up, stitched them back together- but this- it was messy. Ugly- and it was suffocating.

“I need a healer over here!” Someone shouted. Looking over, Harper found a man bleeding out from damage done to his stomach- it seemed like the only thing keeping his intestines was his own hand. A mousy brown-haired woman got him to lie down on one of the various bedrolls for the wounded, but no one came to her aid. “Please! He’s going to die!”

Just save one life. Just one.

Standing up from her spot, she jogged over. “I’m a surgeon, let me see.” She pulled the man’s hand away from his wound. The woman beside her gasped. “Good news, I don’t see any internal bleeding- so the only thing we’ll need to do is irrigate and reinsert his intestines then stitch him back up. I’ll need some antiseptic, and a suture kit.” The girl bolted, and soon came back with supplies. Though what she came back with was some alcohol and archaic looking medical tools.

She could make it work.

Her hands steadied as soon as she got to work, the terror and shock from earlier forgotten as she went on autopilot. She cleaned out the dirt and grime from the wound and prepared the outer edges of the messy wound by cutting off jagged pieces of flesh with a scalpel to make a smooth incision. The man was now thankfully passed out, though it worried her- hoping that he hadn’t lost too much blood. She worked quickly, cutting open the reinforced leather with a dagger the girl handed her to get a closer look at the wound. She double checked for any perforations in the intestinal walls.

Harper upon convinced there were none, finished cleaning the organs before pushing them back inside. She then sutured the wound closed. By the time she was done, she was sweating, she wiped off her forehead with the corner of her sleeve that wasn’t covered in blood.

Just as she was finished, not even a moment later someone else was dragging her to another sick bed.

She cleaned out gashes, cut off damaged burned tissue, reset bones and stitched people back together. It was good. She needed to be busy. She was always better if she could concentrate on her work rather than on her own emotions. Her emotions at this point were rather messy- messier than surgery in an unsterile environment, that was for sure.

Harper knew some of the people she came upon would die, even with her intervention. Some wounds were too great for her to fix alone and while lacking much of the equipment she needed. There was a lack of hands on deck, with only a few people doing rounds for the various people that were injured. She needed blood, she needed tools, and she needed scans. Instead she settled for doing as much as she could and hoping for the best.

Her hands were numb from the cold by the time that a new influx of wounded came in. In was too much too fast, and her supplies were running low. She didn’t know who to talk to about getting more either.

A scream worse than the rest pierced her train of thought, and she scrambled when a man brought down another to one of the bed rolls. Both men were covered in blood, though it was obvious only one of them was injured. She dropped down to her knees to check on the new patient just as the man who brought the other in hovered behind her. “Will he be okay?”

The wound was bad. The leg was a mess of gore. Blood flow was destroyed, and the nerves were ripped apart. The bone was crushed in several places, and unsalvageable. She quickly checked for a pulse and found none in the mess of the lower leg. She’s needed to take off up to the knee, maybe more. “I need a bone saw. I’m going to have to remove the leg, none of this can be salvaged- and you- I need you to hold him down. I don’t have any anesthetics.” The man seemed wary but pulled off his blood-soaked fur overcoat and laid it down.

“Where do I hold?”

* * *

When the influx of wounded slowed down, she paused in order to collect her breath. Harper sat with her legs drawn up tightly to her chest, and her arms pulled around them. Her forehead rested on her knees, as she breathed heavily through her nose- the cold stinging her lungs.

Hearing footsteps near the hiding spot she had chosen, she looked up seeing the same man from earlier. The first thing she noticed was his warm amber eyes. “Thank you.” He said suddenly, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “I was worried he wouldn’t make it- but you saved him. Even if you couldn’t save his leg.” She probably stayed quiet for longer than socially acceptable, because the man rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just- wanted to thank you. A lot of lives would have been lost today if you weren’t here.”

“Your welcome.” She replied, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears now. It was rough with a raspy edge, likely from her smoke inhalation from earlier. “I try to do what I can.” She then turned up to the sky, her eyes widening at the green light at the edge of it. A swirling vortex where gravity seemed to be defied, given the floating rocks. “What is that-“ She breathed in shock.

The man looked at her, possibly as if she was off her rocker. “You didn’t notice a giant hole in the sky?”

“I was a bit busy.” She remarked dryly.

The man just shifted on his feet, before leaning on the edge of one of the crates of supplies. He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s the breach. That’s where all the demons have been coming from.” Demons? She opened her mouth, going to ask the man if he was off _his_ rocker- before she closed it. No doubt she looked like a gaping fish. Though the man seemed to continue- ignoring her as he looked towards the ‘breach’. The green light highlighting his sharp features. “Too many people have died to those demons, the entire Conclave gone up in smoke.” He shook his head with frustration before wincing slightly.

“Are you injured?” She stood, and he looked a bit bewildered as she said it. Earlier she had assumed he was fine. Though given the amount of grim he was coated in, it was hard to tell. “Did you get hit on the head?”

“It was fine, it was just a little bump.”

Harper only barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Head injuries are serious, there could be the possibility of a concussion, hemorrhages, even death.” He seemed flustered at her chiding. “Follow my finger with your eyes.” She ordered, bringing her finger up and moving it side to side. He did manage to follow it.

“This isn’t necessary-“

She pursed her lips. “Well, it kind of is.” Her voice went a higher pitch due to her frustration, and she internally cursed- her brother was totally right. “Just let me look at your head to make sure you won’t drop down and die somewhere. Okay?”

With a soft sigh, the man sat down on the crate fully so she could look at him. “Fine, though I’m sure there are others that are in more need of your expertise than I.”

“Technically I’m off the clock, this is just because I like you.” At the blush that came to the man’s face, and the bashful look he gave- she realized how it could be seen. “I-I mean…not like that. We’ve just met and sure you’re attractive, but I don’t even know your name- I mean- crap. Foot in mouth. Forget I said anything. I’m just gonna prod around your scalp some, tell me if you feel any pain.”

It was a small stretch of silence as she checked for any head injuries. It was hard to tell by sight, given how much blood was in his hair. After a sharp wince, she checked and found a cut near the front of his forehead that was deep enough to need stitches. Must be where most the blood came from; head wounds bled a lot. “Looks like you got hit pretty hard here- there’s some tenderness and swelling. I’m going to stitch you up. It doesn’t seem like you have a concussion, but if you experience any symptoms of nausea, disorientation, fatigue or vomiting, come get me right away.”

“Cullen.” The man said abruptly, as she turned to get the last of her medical supplies from the pouch the girl had supplied her with earlier.

Quite smartly, she responded; “What?”

He flinched a little as she washed out the cut. “My name, it’s Cullen Rutherford.” He answered and held back a hiss as she began to stitch him up. It was too bad she didn’t have anything for the pain.

“Oh- that’s a nice name. Just about done here, it wasn’t too long but it was deep enough to need stitches.” She said, making sure her stitches were immaculate. “Probably won’t even scar too bad.” As she finished, she put her tools away before giving a sheepish grin. “Harper Addison.”

“Your name- it’s uhm- very nice too. My lady Harper.” She almost laughed at the title, though she managed not to; as he seemed to be genuine. A horn suddenly sounded, and the green that used to be in the sky faded until it was smaller than before. Everyone cheered immediately, the earth seeming to shake with the force of it. People clapped each other on the back, and others embraced while weeping. After the noise died down, Cullen gave a small smile. “That seems to be my cue to lead everyone back to Haven…will you come? Others might be injured.”

She wasn’t sure where she was, and part of her was convinced it was vivid dream- though she nodded. “I’ll help wherever I’m needed. I did take an oath after all. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

He stood from his spot with a curt gesture. “Until then, lady Harper.” His already attractive face seeming more-so from the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He was so out of her league. 


	2. Kirdles, Aprons and Smocks Oh My.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harper gets clothes, finds out what a chamber pot is, thanks the lord for hand-sanitizer, and has a small interaction with the handsome stranger she'd stitched up earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much just exposition and details of medieval fashion. Whoops. Probably kind of boring. But hey, at least I updated for you guys! Here is another chapter, hope you like it!

She wakes up to the feeling of small and cold fingers on her face. Blinking blearily, Harper locks gazes with a small pudgy toddler that looks to be no more than a few years old. Her feathery black hair is in disarray, both dirt and soot cover her pale skin.

“Uh- hello?” She asks awkwardly. Not very good with kids, specifically- strange kids that wake her up out of nowhere. She analyzes her surroundings, remembering that the religious people with the weird hats on their heads allowed the refugees into the church- no that’s not the word they used- charter- chantry? Chantry, that’s it.

She was curled onto the floor with a blanket the chantry sisters had so graciously gifted, her arms propping up her head as a makeshift pillow. She had decided to get a few hours of sleep after one of the ‘healers’ on duty had snapped at her to go to sleep. She had spent most of the time tossing and turning, not used to so much bodies packed into a single room for sleeping. It smelled like blood and body odor, it made Harper _considerably_ more aware of her own. Smoke clinging to her clothes and dried flakes of gore under her fingernails. She shivered at the feeling.

The surgeon had been trying to diagnose her vividly real hallucination- because that’s the only thing this could be in her mind. There was no way this was just a _really_ in-character LARP. She had seen the dead and had watched more die as she tried desperately to save them.

Harper wished she had her medical textbooks to sift through, but alas no matter how hard she tried to lucid dream- none appeared to her.

The toddler chewed on her fist with a few little happy gurgles. One of the Chantry Sisters made a small shrieking noise and swept the toddler up. “I am _so_ sorry ser. I look away for one moment, and the little ones try to escape.” The worn-down woman apologized quickly. The toddler made a small ‘bye-bye’ motion with her pudgy hand as the girl was taken back to an area for children. Likely…orphans. Harper had to blink away the tears in her eyes rapidly, had anyone she’d worked on been one of their parents?

She shook her head to rid herself of the though, knowing the spiral she was going to fall into if she pursued the path her mind was going down any father. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get to sleep, she stood to her feet. Carefully stepping over the sleeping bodies of the other refugees without a home. Some were sobbing quietly to themselves, others looking dead to the world with a hollowness to their eyes.

With a wince, she realized the certain pressure of her bladder- and wondered _where_ the toilet was in this dream. Ugh, she hoped she wasn’t going pee in a catheter in real life, or worse- on her couch. As she came up to one of the chantry sisters, she waved at the woman with a nervous smile on her face. “Excuse me, do you know where the um…the bathroom is?” This made the woman blink rapidly and raise her brows in confusion. “Toilet?” Same reaction, except maybe her brows went a little closer to her hairline. Harper perused her memory, what would medieval people call the bathroom? “Loo? Bed pan? Outhouse?” The woman finally slapped her hands on her thighs. Her face flushing in embarrassment and frustration.

Though finally the last one seemed to click, for the woman- and she made a small hum in affirmation. “It is likely too cold to go out to the outhouse in your… _current attire._ ” She remarked with a small derogatory sniff. Harper only realized how strange her scrub pants, ratty tee-shirt and bare feet were. It was a miracle no one noticed and mentioned it beforehand. “The chamber pots however, are off to the left. You should see the privacy curtain there. I…I can see if I cannot scrounge up some proper clothing for you? We have had some donations from the townsfolk that live here.”

“I would be very thankful for anything, ma’am. Especially shoes- of some sort.” Harper is also bewildered at the fact that she hadn’t gotten frostbite up in the mountain. Her feet _were_ painfully cold, though. Dreams don’t have to follow logic- it seems.

The chantry sister gives a small dip of her head. Her hat still looking ridiculous to Harper. “I will send a servant with your clothes.” With that, she disappeared into the crowded bodies of people. Harper herself tried to make her way through, excusing herself quietly as she made for the chamber pots.

Using one was almost as embarrassing as talking about them. More so in her opinion. The _smell._ Even worse than that- she had to pull her scrub bottoms down and _squat._ The surgeon was having a bit of a nervous stream though, as she was worried that someone at any moment was going to pull back the thin curtain there.

There was no toilet paper, she searched many times. Afraid to take too long to drip dry, she had to use her hand and thanked the lord that she hadn’t gone _number two_. Shivering, in disgust, she used her _clean_ hand to pat herself down and thank goodness she still had her small bottle of hand sanitizer in her pant’s pocket. After she redressed, she cleaned her hands off.

As she came out of the chamber pot, relieved but also red with embarrassment.

“Milady!” A high-pitched voice called out, and Harper jumped a bit as she turned to a nervous looking girl with… _pointed ears._ She was a wiry little thing who stood nearly at her collarbone, with short dark ruddy brown hair and light eyes. She had garments folded over her arm. “Chantry Sister Daria asked me to find a woman with long red hair and strange clothes. I’m- I’m assuming that’s you milady? Sorry! Just repeating what the Sister said, messere!” She bowed frantically, seemingly to not meet Harper’s eyes.

The woman resisted the urge to frown at the nervous little thing. It twisted her heart strings. She smiled. “Yes, that’d be me. Thank you so much.” She took the offered clothes. Ugh, a dress.

The pointed-ear girl bowed again. “Of course, milady!” She quickly nodded, before speaking again. Her voice wavering slightly from nervousness. “I brought a smock, two kirtles for warmth, a belt, a purse, an over-tunic, apron, stockings, garter strips and some shoes Sister Daria thought might fit you. Sister Daria apologized at what little she could scrounge up.” Harper blinked owlishly as the surprisingly heavy pile was placed into her arms. She had no idea what _any_ of that was. Nor at how it could be considered a _little_ amount. Why were there so many layers?

“Ah- thank you very much. Is- um, is there a place I can get dressed?” She questioned.

The pointed-eared girl nodded frantically. “Oh, of course milady! I’m so sorry I didn’t offer sooner. Follow me please.”

What she was brought to, ended up being a storage closet of sorts. It had a lock on the inside though, so it was good enough for Harper. The red-haired woman didn’t even get a chance to thank the girl before she was skittering away with her head tucked down.

With a small sigh, the woman locked herself in the small closet inside the Chantry and tried to figure out where everything went and how to put them on. It was self-explanatory with the first dress thing- smock? It was a pale white in color and made from a light material like cotton. It had sleeves that stopped at the upper shoulder, and just brushed her knees. The neckline of it was wide and obviously far too revealing to be worn over top of anything. She put it on over her own undergarments, though she figured by the thin layer of the smock- it was supposed to be undergarments of a sort. She wasn’t getting rid of her own though, not yet. She had no desire to go commando.

Were the thicker dress things- kirtles- next? She put both layers on which were both light beige in colors and made from a thick heavy material which she assumed to be wool or something of the sort, Harper immediately feeling much warmer as she did so. They were both long sleeved, and she had to bunch the material up at the wrists since the fabric threatened to cover her entire hands if she didn’t.

Now, belt first, or the over-tunic?

The over-tunic seemed to have the sides cut out. For what she assumed was to conceal the small cloth purse from the front while being able to get the contents out from the side. She also thought back to what other women had been wearing that she had seen and assumed it to be correct as she couldn’t recall seeing any belts or pouches on the outside. So, she put the belt on over the kirtle first, tying it tight to try and get the loose fabric to bunch up more and keep it from draping so far down her ankles (obviously for whomever these garments were made for- it was for a woman of a much taller height than she) Harper then looped the string of the cloth pouch to tie it onto the belt. She placed her hand sanitizer bottle inside- as well as her keys which weren’t going to be useful anymore. Sigh.

With that done, she slid on the over-tunic which was a brown in color and made from a scratchy material she couldn’t name. She then tied on the apron, which was a cream color with delicate stitching that made it look like a honeycomb in the pleats at the front.

Sitting down on one of the crates, she pulled on the stockings which were a dark grey-brown in color and came up to her upper knee. She wondered quietly why there were strips of cloth randomly placed with them. Then she realized as she pulled at the excess stocking that was far too big for her leg. There was no elastic invented yet. She tied on the cloth strips just under her knee to keep the stockings in place, before she slipped on the simple leather shoes. They were far too big with much space at the toe, but she was assured slightly that they wouldn’t fall off- due to tightening the laces as much as she could.

With that, she was dressed. She only wished that she had gotten washed before she’d done so, but she made do by using small dabs of hand sanitizer under her arms and on her neck. Not how the product was intended to be used no doubt, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

She managed to find a single elastic band in her scrubs, and tied her hair back in a lose bun, knowing that she was going to be working.

As she exited the room, she sighed- feeling more like a person. She was warm and well dressed for the weather.

She found herself back at the ‘healer’ tents soon enough. Rolling her sleeve up to her elbows, she nodded at a few of the people who recognized her from the other day.

She found herself checking up on patients she’d had before, two had died during the night- and one was in critical condition. Though some person with strange color robes, chugged a bottle of blue draught before their hands fucking _glowed_ and sealed their wounds.

So- apparently a magic was a thing.

Good to know.

 ** _Fuck_**.

Harper avoided having a mental crisis at the fact ( _magic exists_ ) as best as she could. She busied herself with suturing wounds using cat gut (yuck) and some needles that were no doubt not sanitized properly. She ran the needle through a flame, hoping to kill any germs, but she knew that the lack of cleanliness in the area was going to cause infection and more deaths. She’d make time to have a long talk with the head surgeon.

Which apparently, they didn’t have one.

Taking command wasn’t something that Harper liked to do, she was only in her second year of residency. Though, whatever experience she had, seemed to be leagues above whatever medieval training the others had. So, she found herself slowly becoming more involved. Sending people out for more supplies- getting the area as best organized as she could. She hated it, but it had to be done.

Thankfully, the bar- er- _tavern_ donated bottles of strong alcohol to use as disinfectant. It horrified Harper how many times she had to tell people ‘ _no, do not use urine to try and clean a wound_ ’.

It wasn’t long before the bell tolled twelve times, making Harper jump lightly from her spot telling another pointed eared girl what more supplies they needed. The sun was up in the middle of the sky, signaling it was already mid-noon. How many hours had passed, six? Maybe more?

She was starving but found herself with no currency to use to buy anything to eat. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s worked through lunch, but she just wished she had some hot coffee. She felt practically dead without it.

Another bell toll later, and a familiar head of blonde hair ducked out of one of the tents. Which Harper remembered had the man who had his leg amputated. Amber eyes spotted her, and he gave a small wave. She looked behind her, expecting him to be waving to a supermodel or someone else that was standing behind her, though there was no one else in the area. She gave a sheepish wave back. Which seemed to trigger the man into coming over to her station.

Harper wasn’t good at social interaction anyways. Especially not with pretty people!

“Hello, lady Harper.” Cullen greeted, seemingly sheepish too, given by the small flush of his cheeks and his action of rubbing the back of his neck. “I am glad to see you are well.”

She smiled back, wondering if she should be in ‘public service’ mode, or ‘chillax talking with your friends’ mode. She opted for the former. Politely dipping her head. “Good to see you are well too. Is your head doing better?”

The man shrugged idly, the mane of fur around his neck reminding her like a lion. Though the more clinical side noticed his dark under-eye circles and bloodshot eyes. “Can’t complain, milady. I appreciate you taking the time to stitch my wound.”

“It wasn’t a big deal-“ She tried to brush off his appreciation. It really wasn’t, it had only been a very small wound. Her stomach though, had taken the awkward lull in the conversation to grumble…loudly.

Cullen blinked as Harper ducked her head. “Have you eaten yet today?”

“Er, no. I don’t really have currency to pay for anything… It’s fine though. I’m used to working through lunch.” The crease in his eyebrows made her shift in her spot.

“Haven’t you gotten paid for your efforts here?” He asked, to which she shook her head. He seemed affronted for some reason. “I insist you let me pay for your lunch, milady. You can’t go hungry. I can settle a pension plan with the ambassador-“

Harper waved off his concerns. “No no no, it’s fine. Really. I don’t want to be a bother, really. It’s not trouble I-“ She was cut off by his words.

“Are you not doing your craft?” She nodded. Cullen continued. “A soldier or a scout gets paid, so do our healers. Especially the talented ones. Please, I will get this sorted I promise. For now- take some silvers. Consider it payment.” He extended a handful of coins towards her. A man should _not_ be able to do the puppy dog eyes so well. Curse it all to hell.

She sighed. “Fine. Thank you, _Sir_ Cullen.” She remarked back- noticing the small flush of his face as she did. She took the coins offered, still feeling dirty about it. She placed them in her pouch though, guilt bubbling in her gut. “It hadn’t been my intention at all to try and swindle you of your money-“

“It was a _payment_.” He insisted, with a friendly smile. A hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Though their conversation was broken by a man clad in armor coming forward with a small shout of ‘Commander Cullen, sir!’ Wait- _Commander_? The blond-haired man gave an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, milady. Duty calls. Until we next meet.” She nodded as she watched him go.

No, she was not going to have a crush on the handsome medieval dream man. _Bad Harper._

With a small stressed sigh, she went to go find something to eat.


End file.
